A Novel Of Impossible Things
by Bekki
Summary: Of all the books in the TARDIS's vast library, Rose had to find that one.  Rose/Ten
1. Chapter 1

**A Novel of Impossible Things**

_Summary: Of all the books in the TARDIS's vast library, Rose had to find that one. _

_Spoilers: All season one and two of New!Who, Human Nature/Family of Blood_

_Disclaimer: I a poor one am. Nothing do I have. Freely do I give. _

_A/N: While trying to think of new times and places for Rose to pop in and out of in my fic "Base Jumping", I stumbled over this little idea. At least it started as little. It's broken into three handy bite-sized chapters that I hope you will enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing. _

_Your feedback is golden._

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*+*+*_For Josiane, whose name is blended beautifully with libraries to me.*+*+*_

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Rose loved the library.

She'd always loved libraries, even when she was small. Not because she loved to read; in fact, she hardly got through a single book cover-to-cover that wasn't Harry Potter, but still, she loved libraries. There was something about them that made her feel smarter, just by standing in them. They were so quiet and so peaceful, and she felt like if she took a deep breath in, the words would float out of the books and into her mind.

Also, this particular library had an amazing sofa.

The TARDIS's library was welcoming and vast, and Rose liked to go there whenever The Doctor took a break to tinker with the TARDIS's console. It was warm, like the lap of a huge, timeless mother and it was full of worlds and galaxies of knowledge.

It made her feel tiny and smart and insignificant and omniscient.

Just like The Doctor did.

"Nabokov?"

Rose jumped, the beautiful sofa squeaking under her.

"Doctor, you scared me," she laughed.

"Sorry," he said with a grin that proved he wasn't sorry in the slightest. "You're reading Nabokov?"

Rose looked at the book in her lap. "Not really," she said with a guilty smile. "Just flicking through. What's it about?" She held the book up so that he could see it.

"Lolita," The Doctor replied, coming over to her and sitting on the arm of the sofa. "By Vladimir Nabokov. It's…well, it's the original…kid's book." He frowned and crinkled his nose.

"Kid's book?" Rose asked, flicking through the pages. "It's a bit long, isn't it?"

"Well, not kid's book so much as…book about kids. Well, one kid in particular. Well…it's not a very nice book," he finished.

"Oh?"

"It's about this man…Humbert Humbert, and he – "

"His name is Humbert Humbert?"

"It's a very popular name, I'll have you know," The Doctor argued, with that grin on his face that told Rose he was lying through his teeth. "Third most popular name on Klom in the year 4530."

"Really?"

"Twice the Humbert, twice the fun!"

"No way…"

"Cross my heart," The Doctor cheeked. "The left one."

"Right."

"Anyway, this Humbert, well…he took a certain liking to a girl named Lolita."

"A certain liking?"

"Yeah."

"To a _girl? _As in, a child?_"_

"Yeah…"

Rose stuck out her tongue in distaste. "Urgh!"

The Doctor nodded. "Exactly. At least a thirty-five year age gap there. Not that it's all that extraordinary when you consider some age gaps -"

"Yeah, but she's a kid -"

"882 years, for example -"

"That's illegal -"

"And a species gap -"

"Who would even want to read that? -"

"Not to mention she's not even listening -"

"What?"

"What?"

Rose shook her head. She loved it when they did that. Sprinting conversations, she called them. Talk, talk, talk, and not enough rest to listen to the other person. He was grinning again. She laughed.

"So should I read this book?" she asked, waving it in front of him again.

"Well…" he drawled, making her smile. "You could…or you could read _Seven Brides for Seven Slitheen_, great book, best-seller in the Horse Head Nebula."

"Seven Brides for Seven...isn't that a musical?"

"Have you seen it?" The Doctor asked, excitedly. "It's brilliant. The dream ballet when the seven brides unzip their heads and reveal themselves as the seven slitheen? I cried." He wiped back fake tears.

Rose laughed again. "You're a nutter, you are," she said, her tongue sticking out from between her teeth.

"Really though, Rose," The Doctor said, taking _Lolita _from her hands, his fingers brushing hers for half an exhilarating moment. "Every best-seller ever written, ever to be written is right here." He stood up, and did a cute little twirl. "I've got another couple of hours of tinkering to do, so find me a good book." He tapped her on the head with the copy of _Lolita._ "And this time, _you_ can tell _me_ about it."

And with that, he flipped the book in his fingers and trotted out of the library, whistling something that sounded suspiciously like "Bless Your Beautiful Hide."

Rose giggled under her breath as she watched him go.

And then she sprung into action.

She loved that he could do that. One silly conversation was all it took to make her an avid reader. She wasn't sure how long it would last, but she knew that she would get through one book. At least one book, all thanks to one silly little chat with her Doctor. She couldn't wait to tell him all about whichever book she found. She could just see the pride in his eyes as she told him the surprise twist at the end of an Agatha Christie, or the social message behind a Tolstoy. Maybe she'd even read a Dickens, for old times' sake.

She wandered the library, buzzing with excitement. There were plaques down every wing of the library, reading "Best Selling Poetry of Poosh, 3098 – 3697", "Books about Bovines" and one particularly dusty section entitled "Mills and Boone and other Non-Stomachables". She laughed as she bypassed the section, certain that The Doctor would not want to hear the surprise endings of any of those books.

Rose came across a section marked "Best Selling Novels of Earth, 2000 – 2100" and grinned. She ran her fingers along the shelves of books, scanning through titles and book spines till she let her hand rest on one. She lifted it from the shelf and ran a hand along the front cover.

_A Journal Of Impossible Things_, by Verity Newman.

Rose smiled and nodded, and took the book back to the comfy sofa in The Doctor's library.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you so much for your reviews and support of this story so far. Hope you enjoy the next installment!_

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She didn't know where to start.

The beginning seemed the most obvious place, of course, but there was something about this adventure that made her want to do it…well, a little differently.

Rose was curled up on the sofa, a glass of wine next to her on the floor. She wasn't much of a wine person, but she figured a glass of wine and a good book would make her more refined, somehow. It was like playing dress-ups in 1950s London or 1860s Cardiff. It just sort of…suited.

She ran her hand over the cover again, taking in the feel of the book. It felt just a little silly, but she had seen The Doctor do it several times, over several different books, and, like the wine and the feeling of being in the library, it made her feel just a little smarter.

And a little closer to him, but she wasn't about to admit that, even to herself.

She ran her fingers down the spine, next, tracing over the embossed title and feeling it bob under her fingers. She turned the book over and ran her hands down its inside, over the closed pages. She smiled as she noticed a set of shinier, whiter pages near the middle of the book. Photos or illustrations, perhaps.

She opened the book to the shiny white section, just like Mickey always did when he read an autobiography. She had always ignored the rest of the writing and just looked at the photos, taking in the pictures and giving plot points of the author's life away before Mickey had a chance to read them.

The first picture was a very old photograph of a school. The type of photograph that was coloured by hand and cost months-worth of wages to purchase. The caption read "Farringham School For Boys, 1912."

She turned the page to find a hand-drawn picture of eight men looking up at her. They varied in age and appearance; one had a clearly visible tie, a few looked to be wearing jackets and the one in the middle had longish hair. Rose brought the book close to her nose and tried to read the untidy scrawl that covered the pictures, but could only make out a few words. "Change" and "Different" appeared a number of times. The left side of the page had the tail ends of words and Rose wondered what had been on the page next to them before they had been scanned into the novel. The caption to this page read "Eight of Ten Impossible Men – by John Smith, 1913."

Rose smiled and furrowed her eyebrows at the name.

She turned the page again.

"Ah!"

Without even noticing she had exclaimed, Rose gasped and released the book, not hearing the soft thud as it landed on the floor under her feet.

No way.

She shook her head and blinked a few times, shooting an accusatory glance at her glass of wine. She picked up the book again and took a deep breath.

It was her.

It wasn't a photo, of course, so she couldn't be completely sure, but there was a hand-drawn picture of her, staring right at her. She held the book at arm's length and squinted at it. It still looked like her. She brought it closer, back up to her nose and looked again. It was her…maybe.

She looked at the page closely, trying to make out the writing.

_In my dreams I keep asking a girl where to find one_

_and she is dressed in the most immodest and extraordinary way._

_She will not answer me and she keeps walking away._

Rose frowned at the words. They made her feel vaguely sad. She traced over the face, so like her own and looked down at the caption. "Rose – by John Smith."

She gasped again.

_Rose._

It _was_ her.

She skimmed the pages, hurriedly. How on earth was she in this book? She flicked to a random page and read, too curious and honestly, a little scared, to start from the beginning. She read bits and pieces, flicking through furiously and not pausing to make sense of each piece she read.

"_There was a fob-watch on the mantel that lay unnoticed by all; all except Martha, the maid."_

"_It was their first afternoon alone in each other's company and Joan was beginning to let her guard down. This John Smith was something else."_

"_She had never feared a little girl before, but this girl made her very bones shake with fear. The girl with the red balloon."_

Her fingers found the sleek white picture pages again and she rifled through them, searching for something that made sense.

She saw a maid and wondered vaguely whether it was the girl Martha. She saw a picture of the Empire State Building and frowned. Surely it hadn't been built by 1913…

She saw a ferris wheel and her frown deepened. It looked like the London Eye. It couldn't be…she wasn't quite so sure about the Empire State Building, but she knew that the Eye didn't exist in 1913.

She turned the page again and her frown disappeared, to be replaced by a wide look of wonder. Wonder and fear.

It was a dalek.

"Doctor…" she called timidly, flicking the page again only to see a Slitheen looking back at her. "Doctor!"

Rose Tyler tore out of the library.


	3. Chapter 3

_Here is the final installment of 'A Novel of Impossible Things'. It's been an absolute pleasure to write, and the support shown for this story has been amazing. Thank you for reading and reviewing - I hope you will join me for more Who!Fic adventures to come._

_Thank you_

_For those who were wondering, this story takes place toward the end of season two, post Age of Steel.  
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_**Please review**_

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"Doctor!"

Rose ran into the console room, waving the book around in her hand.

"Doctor," she said when she saw him, brainy specs in hand, glaring at some trinket on the console.

"Finished already?" The Doctor asked, frowning. "It hasn't even been an hour. I'm sure it hasn't been an hour. In fact, if it had already been an hour, that little nozzle would have started spurting acid and we both would be dead by now!" He pressed a few buttons and disconnected a large, purple nozzle from a spike on the console. "There," he said, looking at it for a few seconds, then throwing it over his shoulder. "Much better." He grinned. "Now, what did you have to show me?"

He held his hand out for the book, wiggling his fingers like he had last Christmas with the Sycorax. Rose threw it into his hands like it was burning her own. "A Journal of Impossible Things, by Verity Newman," he read. "Never heard of it."

Rose took a step away from The Doctor and the book.

"What?" he asked, noticing her reluctance. "Didn't you like it?" he tossed it from hand to hand, lovingly. "Wait, you can't have not liked it already, you've barely had it an hour. Terrible first chapter? Don't worry, the first chapters of the best books are always pants." He plonked the book on the console. "Pants…" he repeated thoughtfully. "What do you think, Rose? Pants…is that me?"

"Thought you were more a 'rubbish' man, actually," Rose said noncommittally.

"Oi!" The Doctor punched. "Rubbish man, indeed. That was quite clever, Rose, are you clever now?" he took off his brainy specs and studied her. Rose shrugged. "Well then," he said, returning his attention back to the book, "tell me what you didn't like. Was it boring? Was it rude? Was it alive? I've stumbled upon the odd living book myself; all fangs and spit just like that monster book in Harry Potter…but without Hagrid…unless Hagrid was me, of course, but I don't think I'm quite that robust, do you, Rose?" He took another quick look at her. "Actually, don't answer that, Miss Rubbish Man." He clicked his tongue. "Come to think of it, I'm fairly certain, 94.5% certain that the Monster book of Monsters was based on that book, well…that race of books, well…that race of book-shaped aliens from the planet Farlo in the Boronial System. Actually. 95% sure…" he trailed off, noticing Rose hadn't interrupted him yet. "Rose…" He took his glasses off again to look at her properly. "Rose, what's wrong?"

Rose leaned in front of him and picked up the book. She took in a deep breath and opened it to the shiny section, leafing through till she found the right picture. The picture of herself. She turned the book around so that it was facing him.

"What's that?" she asked.

The Doctor put his brainy specs back on and squinted at the picture. "Well…it looks like you…"

"Yeah."

"But it can't be, surely," The Doctor said, stroking his chin. "Tens of thousands of years of humanoid creatures in even more planets…the probability of that being you is tiny, Rose. Miniscule." He squinted at the picture again. "Remarkable likeness though," he backtracked.

"It's me."

"No," The Doctor said. Rose shot him a disbelieving look. "Alright then," he said. "Planet of publication?"

"Earth."

"City of publication?"

"London."

"Year of publication?"

"2009."

"Ha!" The Doctor said, breaking their question/answer routine. "2009 hasn't even happened yet!"

"And you live in a time machine. You said it has every best-seller ever written. Ever to be written."

"Yeah, good point, don't know why I said that…" The Doctor trailed off. "Still…you never know…"

Rose shook her head. "I know," she said and turned the page a few times.

"That's a dalek!" The Doctor said as she showed him the page.

"Yeah."

"But that's…blimey, Rose, then it's you!"

"Yeah."

The Doctor took the book off her and turned it back to the page with her face on. He pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his pocket and scanned it, but what he was hoping to find, Rose didn't know. He lifted it up to his nose, just like she had and squinted at it.

"It's got your name on," he said.

"On the caption, I know," Rose replied. "Doctor, what does it mean?"

He was still squinting at the picture. "She will not answer me and she keeps walking away," he read. "That's…" he leaned back on the console. "No…no…that's my handwriting."

"What?"

"On your face, that's my writing. _In my dreams I keep asking a girl where to find one._ One what?"

"I don't know."

The Doctor turned that page, looked through the pictures. "Look," he said, showing her another. "Are You My Mummy?"

Rose smiled and let a little laugh escape her lips. The Doctor smiled back, savouring the memory, and flipped the pages over again.

"Oh…it's me!" He pointed at the new page, grinning with delight.

"What? Where?"

Rose looked over his shoulder. He was fingering the page with the eight different men on it. "Really?" she said. "Which one? How long ago?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No," he said. "They're me. They're all me."

Rose traced them all with her hand, trying to soak up each one. "You're number ten, yeah?" she asked. "So it's just you and…and the last you that are missing?"

"Yeah," he said, watching her look at the different versions of him. He noticed her wide eyes, her short breath and the smile that crept over her features.

"You're beautiful," she whispered, her fingers coming to rest on the hand that was holding the book open. His hand.

"Right," he said, clearing his throat and turning the page. "What else…" he stopped at another page. "Ooh, the Sisters of Plentitude. Remember that, Rose? With the cats and Cassandra and, oh, you kissed me!" he accused, as though he'd only just remembered.

"That was Cassandra," Rose argued, willing the blood to stay out of her cheeks.

"Course it was," The Doctor grinned, cheekily. "Well there you go," he said, looking back at the pictures of the Cat Nurses. "All drawn by John Smith, in 1913, no less." He came across the picture of the Empire State Building. "Now that didn't exist in 1913," he said with a frown.

"And cats in wimples did?" Rose asked.

"Well, no…" said The Doctor. "At least not on Earth. Regular Earth, of course, not New Earth. You know what this means, don't you, Rose?"

"What?"

"I'm a best-selling author!"

He grinned like an idiot and Rose rolled her eyes. "Come off it," she said, snatching the book back. "It was written by Verity Newman."

The Doctor frowned again. "Verity Newman…Verity Newman…v-v-v-Verity. Good name, Verity."

"Do you know her?"

"Not from a bar of soap," he replied with a shrug. He turned the book over and looked at the blurb. 'Argh," he exclaimed, dropping it to the floor, much like Rose had earlier.

"What?" she asked.

The Doctor traipsed around the floored book like he was walking on eggshells. "That's the future," he said, pointing at it.

"Yeah, I told you, it gets published in 2009," Rose said. Did he ever listen to her?

"Not the book," he said, throwing his hand in his hair and doing a ridiculous uncomfortable little dance around the book. "The story. The story is in the future."

"It's in 1913."

"My future," The Doctor corrected. "It's in my future!"

Rose frowned. "Oh."

"A mysterious man named John Smith appears in Farringham in 1913 with a black maid and a secret," he read, from memory of the blurb. "I've never done that."

"What maid?" Rose asked, eyebrows furrowed. "Why not me?"

The Doctor ignored her. "Obviously the secret is that I'm a Time Lord, but..."_This is the story of how the alien fell in love with the nurse?"_ What is this? Mills and Boone?"

Rose thought of the dusty section of library and would have chuckled to herself, were she not a little distraught by the wording of the blurb. "What nurse?" she asked, feeling small and insignificant. "A maid and a nurse and no Rose Tyler…" she whispered.

"I can't read this," The Doctor said, shuffling the book with his feet. "There are some things I can't know and – fell in love with the nurse?" He looked up at the ceiling, incredulously. "That's ridiculous."

Rose's heart warmed a little. "Right…" she said, her frown loosening.

"Me, fall for a human? Ha!"

Rose's eyes went wide for a moment, before she closed them, just in case any tears came for a visit. Was that really what he thought? Not that it was any of her business, of course, but hadn't they…weren't they…? Had she still gotten it wrong, after all this time?

She chanced a look at him and saw that his full attention was on her, his eyes narrowed and focussed. "Rose…" he said.

"What?" she asked, accusingly. "It's your future, I won't read it. I get it."

She picked the book up and turned to leave.

"Rose -"

"Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise for you," she said, anger getting the better of her. God, she hated that she got so jealous. She was a jealous stupid ape, just like her Northern Doctor would have said, but she really couldn't help it. It was her biggest flaw and it was who she was and if The Doctor didn't like it, he could just tell her to shove it, like he obviously was going to at some point in the future for him to swan off to 1913 with a maid and a nurse.

"Rose, stop."

She stopped, but she didn't turn around. "I didn't mean that," he said, a little quieter. Rose turned around, holding her breath. "Well, when I say I didn't mean that, I mean that I didn't mean to say that I would never…because…well, that's mean."

Great. Now he wasn't making sense.

Rose turned to leave again.

"Wait!" he called. Rose faced him again. "Really, Rose…do I need to explain to you that you're…that I'm…" he trailed off as she stood there, still and looking at him. "You really are stupid sometimes…" he whispered.

"What?"

"I can't help it, Rose," The Doctor said. "This is just a bit…odd," he said. "I'm not used to things being out of order like this." He took a step towards her. "Well, I'm used to things being out of order, but not like this. Not in a book." He took the book from her and placed it on the console. "I don't want to know that I'm going to be in Farringham and that I'm going to…be with a nurse, or love her or any rubbish like that…" Rose shuffled, uncomfortably. "You're right, actually, rubbish does work…"

"Doctor!"

"Sorry, right…" Rose shuffled in her place. "Do you think I want to face up to the fact that one day I'm going to lose you?" Rose shivered. "Because I will, Rose. One day you're going to get old or get married or get hurt and I'm going to lose you. I've told you this before. You wither and die and I…" he trailed off. "You don't know what that's like…"

Rose took his hand. "And you're not even the one who'll be gone."

The Doctor looked at her. "Of course…it's your life. It doesn't necessarily mean…you might leave for Jackie. Or Mickey. Or you might -"

"I thought we'd been through this, Doctor," Rose sighed. "I'm never gonna leave you. Not for Mum, not for Mickey…he's stuck in another universe, for god's sake. And the only way I'd ever leave you was if I got stuck somewhere too. In another universe, or 18th century France or the Sanctuary Base…I'd rather die. You know that, Doctor. I'd rather die than lose you."

And all of a sudden, Rose realized they had stepped into dangerous territory. Not the kind that was found on the Sanctuary Base, but the kind that existed only between them, like a polarized force field that bound them together, but kept them apart.

And all of a sudden, Rose had forgotten why she was so angry.

'Rose…" The Doctor said, carefully. "I know. And I…well…you know too."

Rose nodded. "Yeah…" she said. "Yeah I do."

"And this?" he said, picking up the novel. "This is nothing. We don't even know how far away this is. Could be a hundred years. Could be two hundred."

"Could be two."

The Doctor nodded. "Yeah. It could be. But you can't let it rule you. It's time. It's always in flux and always unpredictable."

"Unless you're a Time Lord," Rose said, with a tiny smile.

"Especially if you're a Time Lord," he said, gravely. "Now…" he shuffled the book between his hands, "You could dwell on this book for the rest of your life, wondering when you're going to leave or die," he said, swallowing painfully on the word, "Or you could live today just for today. Just for you and me. And take the future each day as it comes." He took her hand. "How does that sound?"

"Sounds a little clichéd…" Rose said, taking the book from him. "But it sounds good enough for me."

The Doctor grinned and pulled her in for a hug. She breathed deeply, exhaling her need to cry into The Doctor's shoulder, and taking in his safe, heady scent instead. He was right, of course. She could only live each day as it came. For her. And for him. She swore she would live for him.

"Now," he said, pulling her back as though he could hear her thrumming for him, "Shall we try a slightly less melodramatic book this time?"

Rose laughed. "We?"

The Doctor smiled. "Well, we can't have you picking another disaster like that, can we?" he said and she punched him in the arm.

"Oi!"

"Oi, yourself!" he said, nudging her. "Still, if this has shown me one thing, it's that the future me is going to come across some fairly good illustrating skills."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Don't think all that much of yourself, do you?"

"Not hardly," The Doctor grinned back. "Now, what do you think of Seven Brides for Seven Slitheen?"

And he led her back to the library, for some reading, cuddling in front of the fire and yet another wordless promise that they would be together forever.

Until forever ended.

_The end._


End file.
